


Man Overboard

by KelAlannan



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Near Death Experiences, feeling alive, water rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 06:05:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11937900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelAlannan/pseuds/KelAlannan
Summary: The Walrus manages to recover Billy after losing him overboard after the Andromache. Billy's body isn't quite sure what to make of this sudden return to warmth and movement and Flint knows the way to treat that: to fuck or fight.





	Man Overboard

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to be writing my Flinthamilton, when I kept getting distracted by Billy and oops porn happened.

"MAN OVERBOARD!" 

All hands that could be spared from the lines rushed to the rails at Flint's shout. He found his way to Mr. Gates and shouted in his ear, "It's Billy!" He himself was just as avidly searching the waves for a sign of Billy Bones. 

The dark parts of him whispered that Billy was asking too many questions; maybe this was for the best. But Billy had proven his loyalty and dedication to hard work, and the men liked and respected him. Those were important attributes for a captain to have in a man on his crew. 

And he couldn't help feeling the pang, remembering the fear in Billy's eyes as his hand slipped away from Flint's. He would get over it in time, but if no one saw him soon at the clip the Walrus was making through the waves, they wouldn't see him—

"There!" One of the younger men was standing on the lower ratlines of the mizzenmast and pointing into the distance. 

"Keep watching!" Flint roared. "Keep pointing!" He looked in the direction the man's arm was extended and did see something bobbing behind the boat. There were barrels of cloth lashed to the mast; he cut the rope binding it and tied it around one of the barrels, which he pressed Joji into helping him heave overboard in the direction of Billy. He was distantly satisfied to see Gates immediately re-secure the remaining barrels. 

He cupped his hands to shoot, though it was unlikely Billy would be able to hear him. "SWIM TO THE BARREL. BILLY, SWIM." 

They were running before the navy now. He sought out Mr. de Groot and they planned the best course for circling back to the barrel. If they led their pursuers to the west, they could douse all lights and sneak sou'east behind them to where they had parted with the Andromache. It would take some time: tacking at this speed would be hazardous and launching a gig at this distance with these waves meant the boat was not likely to make it even halfway. 

They continue to draw away, with men clearing the deck and carrying the wounded below. By this time, Turk in the rigging had admitted, "Can't see him no more, Captain."

"Do you see the barrel? Sight that now."

It took two turns of the glass for them to shake their tail then come about. The search, for one man and one barrel in the entirety of the barely moonlit ocean, seemed hopeless until one of the watch in the shrouds called out, "Barrel!" And another, "Billy's there!" A ragged cheer rose from those who could spare a thought from their current tasks before Mr. Gates hushed them. 

"Get us as close as we can then drop as much sail as we can afford," Flint ordered his sailing master. 

He prowled the deck like a caged animal until hands were needed to pull in the rope they'd thrown out to Billy at the barrel. It took some heaving at the end from men already exhausted from the fight, but they'd recovered their man overboard. 

Billy Bones lay on the deck shivering and retching. Gates hovered over him like a worried mother hen until Flint grabbed his arm. "You know what to do, man." He nodded. "Put him in my cabin when you're done." 

Joji and Gates managed to get Billy to his feet between them and half-carried him below to the warmest spot on the ship: the galley. Flint stayed on deck for watch as they re-hoisted the sails and started to get as far as they could from the disaster that was the Andromache. He knew the men were nearing the end of their limits, but he knew too that having Billy rescued would keep them going a little longer. Once the sails were up, Flint dismissed certain men below to catch some sleep. He only hoped there was something hot to eat down there as well. Lukewarm, even. They could sail with a bare crew for now, switching out the watch periodically for those who had been able to close their eyes. 

Flint himself was at the helm when Gates re-emerged. "The kid will be alright. Offered enough seawater back to Neptune in yon bucket," as he emptied it over the side, "but he'll live. He's drying out in your cabin now." Flint merely nodded. His cabin was obviously the best place for recovery, but it did make for awkward discussions, considering the topic when Billy had gone over. 

His hands were still firm on the spokes, but his eyes were starting to flutter shut an hour or two later when Mr. de Groot sent a man over to relieve him at the helm. Flint took the relief, taking care to not seem overly grateful, and prowled the deck a little while longer until Gates appeared at his elbow to none-too-subtly suggest he take some rest now. 

Flint nodded. "I'll leave the ship in your hands then."

He went below. What men needed wounds tended after the battle were already put to their hammocks and the underbelly of the Walrus was nearly still. He opened his cabin door and saw Billy was laying on the cushioned bed by the stern windows, still awake and bare chest heaving. "Dry enough there, Billy?" 

"Yea. Can't seem to shut my eyes though."

Flint hummed and sat not in his chair but on the cushion beside Billy. A shiver wracked the man's muscle-laden body. "Cold?" He rubbed a hand up and down the closest arm, pressed the back of his hand to Billy's forehead, then got up to rummage in his sea chest, pulling out some heavy wool blankets. 

But when he returned, Billy's eyes were screwed shut. Flint's eyes swept him to determine what was wrong and noticed the tent in the dry linen trousers he'd changed into. 

"So it's that kind of warmth you need," he observed with a smirk. 

Billy shot upright. "Captain, I didn't mean—!"

Flint held up a hand. "Easy, man. You think I haven't seen this before? It's your body reacting to being alive. I'm sure if I offered to fight you, you'd be up for that too." Billy was looking at him with those big blue eyes shocked and...guilty? Interesting. He had seen it before in response to a proposition. He had worn it before, for that matter. 

"You're shivering, Billy. You want a blanket or body heat?" He'd offer no more than that, let the man decide where he would. 

Billy licked his lips and Flint stepped away to get a water skein from his personal things. He flipped down the latch on the door on the way back. "Drink." Billy did. His eyes, when they met Flint's again, were pleading. 

"Easy," Flint murmured, laying a hand on Billy's chest. He put the water skein aside and slid his jacket off. Then pulled his shirt over his head. Billy's eyes slid away when Flint looked at him. His cheeks and neck were blushed red, which Flint found charming, despite himself. Flint never had a heart for softness, whereas James McGraw... No, he couldn't think of McGraw right now. 

"Get the rest of that off," he commanded, and Billy obeyed, kicking his pants off the bed. Flint unbuttoned his own, but left them on, gaping at the waist. He was growing hard; all the willpower he had clung to these years deserted him at the sight of his bosun's long, tan body stretched out like a feast before him and that which was fully jutted out from the junction of his thighs. 

He put one knee next to Billy's hip and swung his other leg over, lowering himself til he fully straddled Billy's stomach. He felt the man's erection pressed up against his backside and he clung tight with his knees and thighs as Billy bucked his hips wildly. He watched, distantly intrigued, as Billy threw back his head and thick muscle cords stood out on his neck. Spitfire, Flint thought, watching him. His cock twitched at the thought of riding him in another fashion. 

Flint planted a hand hard in the center of his chest, steadying him. When Billy's eyes met his and his chest was still but for the gulping of air, he leaned forward deliberately, pinning Billy's entire upper body with his own. 

"Alright?" he asked, low in Billy's ear. 

"Yes– yes, sir," he stuttered. Flint hoped Billy didn't notice his lower half's reaction to this response, but he didn't hold out much for it. Besides, the other man's voice more than hinted at the breathiness of his own arousal. 

With his mouth where it was, Flint licked the ocean salt from the skin below his ear. His hands moved to grasp Billy's arms. Let him think it was for the sake of convenience; Flint really just wanted to grope at the muscles the man flaunted every day in his rolled up shirtsleeves. 

At the same time, he reminded himself that this was not for his gratification. He sat up and eyed Billy's chest. The life of a sailor, let alone a pirate, was not easy and his skin was littered with shallow cuts and bruises. New marks would not even be noticed. With Billy watching his face, eyes stormy, Flint lowered his head to nip and suck at an unmarked patch of his chest. 

The breath hissed out from between Billy's teeth and his hands came up to grasp hard at Flint's back. Good, he was starting to thaw. He bit again in a new spot and he felt nails rake his skin. Lower, he mouthed around one nipple to tease and taunt before scraping his teeth against the hard nub. Likely to quell a shout, Billy grabbed Flint's hair and dragged his head up so he could attack his captain's mouth with tongue and teeth. 

In the wake of near-death, men wanted to fuck or fight. Captain Flint had found that much more effective as to combine the two. A battle of dominance that ended in orgasm was more than adequate for returning one's blood flow to its usual course. 

So he fought back to control the kiss, if one could even call it a kiss. The way this was going, glimpsing the beast coiled within Billy's chest, he suspected this encounter would be filthy and swift. 

The hand not fisted in his hair had dropped to grip Flint's hip. Hard. To adjust to Billy's considerable height, Flint drew his head back for him to chase and stretched his torso until his ass still in breeches ground against Billy's erection. 

"Fuck!" Billy swore. 

"That's the idea," Flint growled at him. 

The man's hips were working relentlessly and Flint's torturous hindbrain reminded him again what a good fuck he'd be to ride. Flint briefly let himself imagine the stretch, burn, and grind of it and then shut it down. This needed to be impersonal, transactional. 

"Please, Captain. I need– I can't–"

"Yes you can, Billy. Fucking hold on."

He knelt up and shifted down, pulling himself out of his breeches so that he could wrap a large hand around both of their erections. Billy's eyes flew wide and he opened his mouth to let out a shout, until Flint shoved his other hand between his lips. Rather than make a noise for the crew to hear, he bit down on the outside edge of his hand. Flint would surely have the man's bite imprinted in his flesh come morning. 

"Quiet!" he whispered fiercely and Billy closed his eyes as he nodded. Then Flint resumed the stroke of his hand, the shift of his hips, and Billy once more resumed his struggle. Flint couldn't say if he was fighting to control himself or fighting to gain some kind of upper hand. Or perhaps just fighting because the adrenaline still ran sweet in his veins. 

Billy was propped up on his elbows now and his eyes fixed on where their two bodies slid against each other. His hands were fisted and his upper arm muscles bulged where that tension led. Flint leaned down and nipped one cord of muscle there to further goad him before he abruptly found the room flashing before his eyes and Billy was suddenly on top, rutting against him. 'The boy knows grappling,' he thought, absurdly turned on at the thought. Here he had thought he would be maintaining the upper hand to work the man through an adrenaline purge. 

Billy was shamelessly chasing his own release now, panting and dripping sweat onto Flint's chest. Each slide and grasp of friction pulled Flint along with him. Suddenly, Billy's head flew back and Flint saw a flash of white teeth grit against any sound as he spilt between them. 

He sat up, swaying in place, staring down at Flint in something of wonderment. Amused, Flint shuffled off to the side of the bed. "Here, man, lay down." He had to grit his own teeth against the pangs of his still erect cock, painfully hard now. 

Billy followed his direction and Flint quickly grabbed a shirt to wipe themselves off with. He stood, buttoning his pants back up, and reached down once more for the water skein. He took a swig himself then handed it to Billy, who drank greedily. He tossed the bosun his trousers and noticed the lag in his movements as he donned them once more. His body was loose and easy now and his eyelids low. 

Flint laughed. "That's how it goes, you need to fuck the fight out for your body to catch up that it's still working." He shook out one of the wool blankets and threw it over Billy's body, which was still sheened with sweat. "You'll get some sleep now. You can move to your hammock or back to watch in the morning."

"Cap–"

"Honestly, don't mention it, Billy." He let a warning linger below his words. 

"Thank you," he continued anyway. He made sure to hold Flint's gaze. "And as for that letter...if I can get an explanation, I'll let it rest. No one else needs to know of it."

Flint nodded jerkily. "Sleep well." He unlatched the door and doused the light before slinging himself into his hammock. 

He waited until a light snore emanated from the corner cushions to push his breeches back down and take himself in hand. He now let himself imagine Billy fucking him from below, shamelessly using the coiled muscle below the man's skin. He too imagined Billy on his knees, eyes bright and blue meeting his over where his cock slid over Billy's tongue. They were nice fantasies. 

But it was the still vivid memories of Thomas making love to him that had him biting the flesh of his arm and spilling over his hand. His limbs felt extraordinarily heavy immediately after and he let the hammock rock him into oblivion.

**Author's Note:**

> Come shout about yon sweet murderous boys (and girls) of Black Sails with me on tumblr at [KelAlannan](KelAlannan.tumblr.com)


End file.
